


Fuck No, This Was YOUR Idea

by Ealasaid, Rexila



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, more bad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rexila/pseuds/Rexila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slick spills details of sex with Droog to Inspector; Inspector wants to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck No, This Was YOUR Idea

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This Was Your Idea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/311256) by [Ealasaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid), [Rexila](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rexila/pseuds/Rexila). 



> This is why Rex and I should be best author buddies forever C: Sequel to This was Your Idea.

  
“I already told ya, I ain’t spillin’!” Slick snarled. He yanked against the ropes holding him to the chair again and threw himself from side to side, making the chair careen wildly. “Not about Droog, not about the Crew, and not about this fucking smuggling act!”   


Pickle Inspector, looking intimidated all through this violent show of manic energy, glanced to the side nervously.

“Er- ah, this isn’t quite, um, professional, I’m just... Wondering on a personal level, um, that is...”

Slick stopped and squinted suspiciously at Inspector, until uncomprehending disbelief dawned in his eye. “Droog? Personal? _Droog?_ ”

“Y-y-yes?”

“OOOOOH,” Slick breathed, suddenly getting it. Inspector looked uncomfortable. “You wanna  _fuck him!_ ” Slick exclaimed, somewhere between pride at figuring it out and incredulity that that was all Inspector was inquiring.

Against all of PI’s observations, predictions, and expectations, Slick just snickered and leaned back in his chair, suddenly casual and very, very willing to talk.

“Weeeell, that’s different, then! First thing’s first: He fucks like a beast.” Slick started, looking Inspector dead in the eye, and with a smirk, finished: “That beast is the turtle.”

-

Droog stopped. Slick raised his head and shot him a withering, impatient look.

“Did you just _yawn?_ ” Droog said, barely controlling his incredulity. It most certainly was  _not_  because of the overwhelming passion in this session.

Slick sneered.

“It’s late and I’m gettin’ gently rocked to sleep over here. Maybe if you moved faster than fuckin’ molassess--”

Droog did move faster than fucking molasses, but with the wrong body parts. Slick reeled, shrieking as blood spurted out of his nose.

“FUCK why do you keep doing that?! Your fucking precious sheets are ruined again you dipshit now you’re going to complain here let me _shut you up with this other fist--_ ”

“THEY’RE BLACK FOR A REASON--” Droog snarled as he ducked the fist by auto-absconding from the session, a maneuver that called for emergency evacuation of the five feet around Slick as well as, incidentally, Slick’s posterior.

“WE NEVER FUCKING AGREED ON BLOODPLAY WHERE THE FUCK IS THIS IN THE CONTRACT?!” screamed Slick, swinging wildly.

“Well you can take your legislation and _suck it like my cock_ , because you do _that_ SO WELL!”

“If you keep bringing that up I’ll fucking give you a repeat performance you bastard!”

-

“Like, grunts and all, seriously.”

For the first time in his life, Pickle Inspector fought hard against his imagination.

Slick suddenly looked PI up and down.

“Hey, you look like a guy who just _loves_ drinking,” Slick said like he had just discovered an admirable trait about PI. Which might actually be the case, considering it was Slick. “I mean hell, if I were half as pathetic as you I’d _need_  to be an alcoholic to deal with it, so here’s another one: watch the drink limit. He gets unpredictable when you give him too much shit.”

“I-I-I-- r-really? H-he seems comp-p-petent--”

Slick made a rude noise. “Well DUH. But there’s a fine line between classy drunk and useless drunk with him and he apparently can’t tell the difference or some shit like that.”

-

“Droog...”

Droog didn’t react. He probably hadn’t heard over the purring noises he was making.

“Droog.”

Still nothing.

“Droog, if you fucking don’t stop trying to drive my fucking pants, I am going to fucking kill you.”

Droog looked at Slick with a blank expression from where he was straddling Slick’s thighs. Then he drunkenly smirked and made another purring noise and yanked the waistband of Slick’s pants to one side in a clear imaginary attempt to turn a getaway car in a wild car chase. Slick snarled and swung and _connected_ , but Droog didn’t let go, he just made screeching noises accompanied with some really forceful jerks on the waistband and ended up falling over giggling onto the side of the bed.

“Sorry,” he slurred, “Th’ police caught us, my bad.”

“ _Droog what even the fuck._ ”

“Have you ever thought about how all cars should be cats because cars make purring noises or the engines are supposed to purr so why don’t we put cat ears on every car and give ‘em whiskers--”

Slick moaned and pulled a pillow over his head. This was his fucking city, he should _not_  have to deal with this shit.

-

“Now that I think of it, wear ear cat-ears too. That never actually came up, but I bet he would like it.”

“W-well, I d-d-don’t--” Inspector stuttered. This was not the information he had bargained for. This wasn’t even information he wanted, really.

“Don’t ask me why, he has this weird fetish for cats. And cars. And another thing--”

“--Uh, is this going to relate to--”

“Yeah,” Slick said, not really caring if what he said was actually relevant to the detective’s question. “He’s a huge fucking wuss.”

-

“So, uh...”

Droog refused to acknowledge Slick until he knew what he was going to say. It was some vain attempt to teach Slick something or another, probably, but nowadays Droog was just kind of hoping Slick would walk away instead. He never did.

“Hey, do you think I can try that thing again? Y’know...”

That sounded like a visual, so now Droog  _had_  to look at him. Damn Slick’s cleverness.

Droog regretted that thought the instant he realized what Slick was miming.

He glowered and returned to his paper.

“Come on! It was an accident and I’m better at it now-”

“Really? Who have you been practicing on?” Droog asked flippantly.

There was an extended silence as Slick opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to figure out how to answer that. 

“That. I haven’t-- that’s none of your business-- I just-- look, it can be a mutual thing or whatever.”

“No.”

“Look, I’m _sorry_. There, I said it, now will you please let me do this?”

Droog thought about it for a little while. He had considered flat out refusing, but maybe...

“Only if you wear a mouthguard.”

Slick did a double-take, too bad Droog missed it by reading that damn paper.

“What?! Hell fucking _no!_ ”

“Hm. Too bad.”

Slick scowled and left, throwing a “fuckin’ wuss!” over his shoulder as he did.

-

“Don’t expect him to suck your dick, either,” Slick continued, kicking halfheartedly at a cockroach on the floor. “He’s got some problem with putting things in his mouth that isn’t food and booze.”

-

“Come on!” Slick pleaded.

“Get that out of my face, it’s not happening.”

“Fuckin’ wuss. Can’t take a little dirt...”

-

Slick leaned towards Inspector and looked around as though he thought Sleuth or Dick would materialize out of nowhere.“He also wears a glove when giving handjobs,” he confided conspiratorially to the quivering detective, “and that’s not slang or whatever, I really mean leather gloved dick massage.”

Inspector felt faint. “Uh- M-mr. Slick I’m not reall-”

-

“Okay no this is weird, cut it out,” Slick said after a minute, squirming.

Droog didn’t stop. “Why is it weird?”

Slick squirmed some more. “Oh gee, I dunno, maybe it’s because you’re wearing a cold fucking _glove_.”

Droog flicked a glance at his associate’s face. Slick had an odd expression on his face, looking almost nauseatedly pleased while Droog jerked him off. “It’ll warm up,” he said, trying to sound reassuring.

“I feel like this is a fucking medical examination and you’re going to shove things up my ass.”

“Yeah well, that’s going to happen later anyway right?”

Slick looked pale, probably at the association between a prostate exam and being fucked. He tried again. “For a guy obsessive over his hands you sure can’t use ‘em very well wearing those things,” he gasped.

Droog did something that made Slick jerk up and hiss. “Too bad,” Droog answered dispassionately.

Slick went through the rest of the session looking as though he was going to die.

-

“Oh and speaking of being literal... when he says ‘suck on my gun’, it ain’t what you think it is.”

“I-- he doesn’t w-want you t-t-to--”

“Yeah, he  _seriously_  wants you to suck on his gun.”  

-

Slick was ecstatic and kind of proud that Droog was finally getting better at the dirty-talk thing, until he looked up and saw the fancy semi-auto-whatever in Droog’s hand. Droog noticed how Slick’s face fell, but just raised an eyebrow. Slick looked at the gun, then back to Droog’s face.

“Seriously?”

“Slick, please.”

“I mean what’s the point--”

Droog sighed and shut his eyes.

“--it’s a fucking _gun_  not your dick or fingers or whatever people do, it’s not like you can feel it.”

“Slick.”

“And another thing, it tastes gross! I don’t know what the fuck you clean it with, but-”

“Slick. I humoured you with the knives last week.”

“Pfheh! You fucking _enjoyed_  the knives last week, that’s different! You can _feel_  knives, and I can _feel_  ya _feelin’_  the knives, so y’see that’s a mutual thing. This is just me sucking on something and you watching and honestly why bother with the middleman here when I could just suck your-”

“Absolutely not.”

Slick rolled his eyes and threw his hands up.

“Then what the fuck do you want from me?!”

“A little bit of cooperation, if it wouldn’t kill you.”

Slick rolled his eyes again and huffed. “Fine! Let’s do this!”

He shoved the end of the gun in his mouth and started bobbing.

“Ohhh, uhnnn ohhhh Dwoog, youah gun ish sho _hooot_ ,” he slurred, his teeth clicking against the muzzle, “Unnnhnf itsh betteh thahn th’real thing f’shure, unnnf.”

Oblivious to the withering look Droog was giving him, Slick slurped noisily around the gun and brought some tongue-action into it too. That is, clumsily dragging it over the surface when he didn’t have to articulate.

“Oooooh yeah, thish doeshn’ tashte gwoss at _all,_ fuckin’ _delishous_ hummmmng yeah oh _yeah_  umnf uhhh-”

Droog wondered if it would be fair to give warning, then he realized his hand had already moved on its own volition, pulling the gun free and clubbing Slick in the side of the head. With an indignant snarl, Slick fell to the ground, and stayed there with his hands clasped to his mouth.

“Ow you huckin’ _ahss_  I bit mah huckin’ tongue augh!”

In the faintest hope of salvaging this session, Droog crouched and levelled the gun at Slick’s head, to the side this time. Slick glared at Droog.

“Whaht’s thith supposed t’be? Danger kink or somethin’?”

“Something like it,” Droog said, and nodded at Slick, “now do as I say and st-”  


“Or _what_ , you’ll shoot me?” Slick countered immediately, and started to get up, “Like you’d ever fuckin’ do it-”

Droog shrugged, and lowered the gun.

_BANG._

Droog’d accepted by this point that things weren’t going to go his way this time, so he wasn’t too broken up by Slick rolling around on the ground and screaming about backstabbing and traitors and “unnecessary fuckin’ bloodshed” and so on. At least this way, that element of uncertainty would be there, and maybe Slick would get the idea.

He was probably just overly optimistic.

-

“He’s a psycho and he’ll shoot you if you don’t do his weird kinky shit.” Slick shuddered as though he were reliving whatever horrible memory he was referring to. “And he hates trying new things.”

-

“You handcuffed me.  _To the bed_.”

“Yes,” Slick smugly affirmed as he dropped his pants, pleased with how well Droog was taking his new-found restraint. _Finally_ , Slick wouldn’t have to worry about Droog punching him, clubbing him with a gun, or doing anything else violent with his hands. This was the perfect solution.

Droog waited patiently as Slick hopped on the bed and bounce-walked on his knees nearer. At just the right moment, Droog snapped a leg out and caught him right in the crotch.

Slick keeled over with a disbelieving wheeze, looking like he’d just been hit by a bulldozer.

“Now, what have we learned?”

It took Slick a moment to answer. “I’m gonna throw up on you,” he whimpered with almost no breath.

Droog narrowed his eyes.

“You will not.”

“...fucking... gonna try...”

Droog made a small moue of disgust, and casually pushed Slick with his foot. Slick teetered on the edge before falling off the bed where he lay, curled up in a whimpering ball.

-

“Bang in a well lit area. Do _not_  let that asshole out of your sight,” Slick barked at Inspector. “Fucking dick’ll do weird shit to see if he can like, get away with it, hell if I know why.”

-

“AH FUCK KICKING FUCKING GODHEADS WHAT THE FUUUHCK,” Slick screamed, writhing uncontrollably on the bed.

Droog angled the bottle a little into the faint light and squinted at the text, then at the nightstand where the _actual_  lubricant was. Whoops.

“Must be allergic,” Droog said calmly, tossing the hand sanitizer over his shoulder.

-

“So there you go, that’s Droog’s sexual history, good luck getting anywhere with that son of a bitch.” Slick hawked and spat on the floor and made a face as a final word.

Pickle Inspector considered everything he had gleaned from the highly profitable and incredibly disconcerting conversation. He trembled.

“What, ‘re you cold ‘r something?”

“Oh n-n-n-n-no...” Inspector wobblingly sat down hard on the ground instead. Slick eyed him as though he’d gone mad.

“Well what’s wrong, eh?”

Inspector closed his eyes. Maybe Sleuth would bust in heroically right now. He could really use that.

  


  


-   
**Alternate Ending:**

 ****“So there you go, that’s Droog’s sexual history, good luck getting anywhere with that son of a bitch.” Slick hawked and spat on the floor and made a face as a final word.

Pickle Inspector considered everything he had gleaned from the highly profitable conversation. He trembled in joy.

“What, ‘re you cold ‘r something?”

“Oh n-n-n-n-no...” Inspector said dreamily, thinking deep inside:    
_‘Oh my gosh a man who is into weird kinky sex but goes at a slow and reasonable pace!’_

He swooned.

Slick watched quietly for about a second, then started struggling again.

**Epilogue**

“Uh... hey Slick?”

“What the fuck is it now?”

With a grimace, Sleuth held up a big, peeled carrot with little scratches down its side.

“What’s this?”

Slick leaned into the door frame enough to identify what Sleuth had, and immediately his eye went wide.

“That’s fuckin’ nothing put it back-” he said quickly, snatching the carrot from Sleuth’s hand and chucking it vaguely in the directionof the sink.

  



End file.
